


The Moment Companions Realize They're in Love with the Sole Survivor

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Companions, Companions React, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: A moment is all it takes.





	1. Companions Realize They're in Love with f!Sole Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

**Cait** : The moment Cait knew she loved you, she was already several hours, as well as drinks in to the evening.  Not drunk enough to need to be carried out of the bar, but buzzed enough to be docile, and nursing a healthy glass of whiskey in her hand.  From across the room, you were engaged in a heated game of darts, some loud mouth drifters in the bar were challenging you, and caps were on the line.  Even from a distance, she could tell you were mouthing off to him.  She saw you place a hand on your hips, and gesture pointedly to the drifter.  Even without hearing you, she could tell you were snarking him.  She watched as you picked up a handful of darts, waving your opponent to get out of the way, and readied your arm to throw.  Now, she predicted, you would throw and land the bullseye two out of three times, the third one would whistle dangerously close to the drifter’s ear, for good measure.  But the throw never came, and instead, you turned around to face Cait. She met your eyes from across the room, aware of your gaze on her like a live wire running through her.  You gestured at her to come over enthusiastically. Looking back, she had realized the skipping of her heart at the look in your eyes, was affection; you had looked so cute; a vision in the hell that was Commonwealth.  Cait had sauntered over, and immediately you greeted her, throwing an arm haphazardly across her shoulders, and turning back to the drifters.

“If you two cowboys are ready to get your asses handed to you on a silver platter, we’re ready to get cooking.”

Throughout the entire match, Cait’s eyes didn’t leave you; they couldn’t.  And when the two drifters begrudgingly shoved a pile of caps over to you, the warm feeling that lingered in her heart didn’t change; it had come there long before your victory.  Like a warm, sleeping cat, it had settled down, putting Cait at ease for the first time in years.  In retrospect, it seemed to have started whilst she watched you sashay over to the dart board that night.  Ready for anything; and wanting her along every step of the way.

 **Curie** : It had been complete pandemonium, Curie could remember that as clearly as if it were happening now.  It had been the first-time raiders attacked Sanctuary, since she had joined the settlement. Not much of a fighter, she had been wading through debris, and the chaotic rush of people trying to protect their home, trying to find someone who needed her help.  With all the commotion she had been resigned to triaging and helping move any wounded she found to a safe area, until she could better take care of them, once the immediate threat was gone.  

Once Sanctuary had been secured, she had begun her rounds; disinfecting cuts, administering Med X, and stopping bleeds. Overall, no one had sustained serious injuries, the most serious one being a bullet wound you had sustained to your shoulder.  She could still recall treating you that day; your muscles taut with pain, your jaw clenched, refusing to let her know the extent of it.  Her first order of business would have been to give you Med X, but bravely, you had rejected the offer of relief, saying someone else could need it.

These…strange feelings had started with the admiration that had sprung from that one interaction.  She cleaned your wound – it had been through and through, and upon disinfecting and packing it to prevent bleeding, you had started to relax, strengthened by the confidence of knowing it wasn’t that serious.  Curie was relieved as you grew more talkative, able to joke even.

“Hey Curie, if you’re the doctor and you take care of everyone, then who takes care of you?”

She had laughed at first – what a silly question, the type she might expect from a young child.  It wasn’t until she had noticed the curiosity in your eyes, mixed with something else – concern? That she had realized, you were serious.  Her heart twinged, and words failed her.  It almost felt like…not pain, but a hiccup? In her chest?  Like nothing she had ever felt before.  At the time, Curie had waved the question off; after all, you had been the injured one. Still though, from that moment on, she was unable to resist the magnetism of your presence, whenever you were near her; it was as if you had answered your own question, all the while stirring up a dozen more for her.  Curie always felt watched over when she was with you, never alone, and yet, the nature of your relationship remained an enigma, full of feelings she had no idea if you shared, as well as some that still needed to be decoded from the complex workings of her own heart.

 **Danse:** Danse knew what others might call this feeling…he couldn’t bring himself to even think the word, afraid his face might bare his bleeding heart to all.  But, who could blame him for harboring such feelings for you?  You had kept him anchored on the day his identity had been ripped from him, the day his family had turned their backs on him.  When the Brotherhood had found out his real identity, they had immediately ordered for his death – they hadn’t even had to think about it, and how could he blame them?  He had half a mind to fulfill their request himself.  The only one who apparently hadn’t wanted to, was you.  He could still clearly recall the steely look in your eyes, willing Maxson to stand down.  As a result, you had also been expelled from the Brotherhood; it hadn’t even phased you, and he wasn’t sure anything ever did.  You were a good man in a storm, and a beacon in his own.  He remembered feeling turbulent in his crises; no longer sure of his identity, and no longer sure of what he was capable of. He had been so angry and sad and  _repulsed_ he thought his own venom might kill him, he had hoped it would.  You had merely placed a hand on your shoulder; knowing it was not nearly enough to console him, but also knowing that nothing probably would be right now. You tried anyways.

“Be sad.”  You had told him, “Grieve, mourn, be angry, but then come back and let yourself be happy again, let yourself heal enough to come back.”

At the time he had thought there was no coming back from such a thing, after all he couldn’t change who he was.  Who he had really ended up being.  Somedays he thought the darkness he harbored in his heart might kill him, and other days, he had tried to pull you into that darkness too.  You never wavered though, each resentful comment, every poisonous glare – you endured it all.  He had no idea why you had hung around, all he knew was that you had been there to pull him out of the hole had dug himself when his life had spiraled out of control.   You had been a better sister to him than the Brotherhood had been, and yet, he knew that he didn’t think of you as a sister, not really.  That had disgusted him – old habits died hard after all, and the thought of something like him hiding secret desires for you still repulsed him; but together you two had remained, Danse determined to atone to you every day for the rest of his life.

 **Deacon:** Deacon had been there that night – the one where you had hobbled back to Sanctuary, Danse in tow.  Or at least, he had looked like Danse – the Danse Deacon remembered had never looked so defeated before, Deacon could barely recognize him.  He watched as you herded him into your private living quarters, opening your home to him when he had been expelled from the only family he had ever know.  Curious eyes pried, and several had gone to ask, why Danse?  How could you trust him?  Not to mention the volatile behavior following in the wake of his identity crises.  Deacon could sympathize; but still, he couldn’t deny his own doubts about Danse’s place in the settlement; one with several synths, and a ghoul to boot. ****

Deacon approached you that very same night; why had you taken Danse in anyways?  Not that the synth aspect bothered him, but in his current emotional state, he was unstable, coupled with the prejudiced values that had been instilled into him for who knows how long, the resulting level of self-deprecation could be hazardous. You had merely smiled, a sad, small sort of smile, before answering his question with your own.

“Have you ever read  _Eden of the East_?”

What was that?  You had chuckled, but nodded understanding, it was a classic of pre-war literature after all.  

“It was essentially a proclamation of human greatness, or I suppose these days, a  _person’s_  proclamation of greatness.  Basically, at any given time, anyone can choose to be good, to do good, no matter their actions of the past.”

Deacon’s heart twinged, you hadn’t only been opening your house to Danse when he had come home with you – not really.  Your own humanity had struck a chord in him, and he had to fight to keep his casual demeanor.

“That’s…really cool of you.”

He had known that “cool” didn’t even begin to cover his view of you, not when words like “love”, “enamored”, and “inspired” existed.  Not that he told you that.  He might someday though, after all, regardless of the cowardice and insecurity he felt today, the future held endless possibilities, infinite potential for his bravery, his own proclamation of greatness and love.

 **Hancock** : Hancock was in love with you, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, in the safety of his own head of course.  It had been after the two of you had found the kid in the fridge. It had been the repulsion you showed at the scum that tried to buy him.  It had been the resolve you had in getting him home to his family, the stories you had told him over meals the three of you shared in camping over night during the journey, the interest you showed when he talked, and the respect you paid him. Maybe it was the mom-bone in your body or whatever, but the way you treated him had been akin to how he imagined you would have treated Shaun. ****

Hancock had warmed at the very sight of it, but it had been so long since he had felt butterflies in his stomach, that he responded the only way he had known how.

“Playing house with you for the past few days has planted some…impure thoughts in my head.  Perhaps, we should act on those.” He had growled in your ear, expecting your face to redden.

You had merely turned around to meet his haughty gaze.

“Maybe we should, John.” You had purred.

He scoffed, disappointed at your underwhelming reaction.

“It was a joke sister, you don’t want to be stuck with this mug.”

“I don’t know,” you turned around, your voice returning to normal. “Maybe I do.”

“Now why would a girl like you, want to hang around with a guy like me?”  He mused, secretly really interested in what your answer would be, despite the casual challenge in his tone.

“You’re a good guy, you know?”  you had stopped, turning to face him, staring at him, open, honest.

“You try to put on that tough, anti-hero act, but you’re a real decent person with a good heart.  You always strive to help others, and you just want people to be able to live their own lives in peace.  In a way, you and Preston Garvey are two sides of the same coin.”  You sounded amused at the end, upon mentioning the do-good minuteman.

Hancock was thoughtful.

You turned around to continue walking, it was going to be a long trek back to Sanctuary after all.  Hancock’s eyes followed you for a moment, for once, not leveled at your ass.  He definitely couldn’t let you…think he was like Garvey, could he?  He figured he better stick around to make sure you got your facts straight, and of course, work out the new mess of feelings you’d stirred in him with your little rousing speech.  

 **MacCready:** MacCready watched you, down on one knee, listening intently to something Duncan was telling you, dead serious. ****

“Look at my car,” he demanded, holding up a small toy car MacCready had found for him on one of your many travels.

“I see,” you had answered, matching his seriousness, despite the smile you had to bite back.

“Take this car with you and Daddy, and show everyone you help, and tell them it’s my car, okay?”

You had nodded earnestly, as he had dropped it into your awaiting hand.

“I will.”

“And then you have to bring it back, okay?”

“Okay, I promise.”

“And you have to watch Daddy, okay?  And make sure he doesn’t get too sad.”

“I’ll try, it might be hard though – your Daddy loves you so much, it’s hard to not be sad when he’s away from you.”

Duncan puffed his chubby little cheeks out.

“How do you know?”

You had smiled softly, “Because that’s how I feel about my own son.”

MacCready’s heart had twinged, watching as you changed the subject, saying something to make Duncan break out into a large bout of laughter, as he threw his small arms around your neck, too young to notice the melancholy in your eyes.

From that point on, MacCready’s heart had ached for you, knowing the grief you felt better than most, and wishing you had didn’t have to feel it.  At least he had Duncan; he couldn’t imagine not knowing where his own son was, not knowing if he was safe or, alive even.  You were a decent person, and MacCready appreciated that, but the shared trauma – he could recall very clearly, is what gave him a soft spot for you.

When the both of you had returned a few days later, you, with Duncan’s toy car in hand, having kept your word to him, (“The people of the Commonwealth had thought it was real  _neato_!”)  Duncan ran to you.

“Did you do it?  Huh?  Did ya?”

You had laughed, “I did, and as promised – your car.”

He had beamed, throwing  his arms around your neck again, and planting a wet kiss on your cheek.

“Thank you,”

When MacCready had picked up his son, he had always had a good feeling; like Duncan was the only good thing left in this world. It was a feeling he had thought he’d never feel about anyone else.  And then, he looked at you, and he felt it.  Goodness.  Kindness. The need to protect.  Decidedly, that was when MacCready had fallen for you.

 **Nick Valentine:** Nick was an empathetic guy, with everyone it seemed, but himself.  He had treated everyone he met with at least some semblance of dignity and respect, synth or ghoul alike, and yet when it came to coming to terms about his feelings for you, he was disgusted.  It was ridiculous, wasn’t it?  A broken down machine like him, programmed to feel warm and tingly, feeling that, for you? A flesh and blood woman, who could have children, and grow old?  

This had not what he had meant when he said he wanted something of his own.  His own self hatred; funny, right?  One sick joke after another, thank you very much, Universe.

He remembered confiding in you about his want – his need – for something that was uniquely his.  Painstakingly, he recalled the flush to your cheeks; live tissue. The glitter in your eyes; not florescent light.

You had pressed your soft, warm hand to his cold, metal one.

“Don’t you see?  You  _are_  Nick Valentine, these experiences, your feelings, they’re uniquely your own.  It doesn’t matter if you have his voice, his personality, even his memories.  This Nick,” you had squeezed his hand, “ _you_ , are living through this.  I don’t know the other Nick, but I know you, and I know you’re a  _good_  and  _kind_ person.”

If he had a heart, he’s sure it would’ve been hammering; for once, he was grateful his chest was void of one; for surely you’d be able to hear it.

He wasn’t sure what it was; a remnant of Nick’s notion of love, or some synthetic processing center for basic emotions placed in synths, but Nick was feeling it with you.  A desire for closeness.  A magnetic pull towards you, - and being metal, he knew what that was like.  It was different from when he had visions of Jenny – while he felt sadness, because he knew he should feel sad about that, he himself didn’t feel the same rawness he felt with you.  It was distant somehow, as if he were watching the old Nick’s feelings through a TV screen.  With you though, he was thrust into the realness of what he felt though; he had no heart, and yet he could feel it throb wantingly at the sight of you. Could ache with the need to be close to you.  Nick could remember clearly, the day he fell in love with you, because it was the same day he found himself.

 **Piper:** Piper could call on the moment she fell for you with breathtaking clarity. It had been a peaceful morning; one of the few she got in the Commonwealth.  She had woken up in Sanctuary, and strolled into your house – like she did any other morning. ****

“Coffee’s in the kitchen,”  you had murmured, preoccupied.

By the time she was sitting across from you with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, she was able to discern the thick fold of paper curled in your hands; the recipient of your attention.

“You’re reading my paper?”

She raised her eyebrows.

You had nodded, not taking your eyes off the paper, “I always put in a special request to the settlement trader to bring a couple of copies back from Diamond City.”

“So you’ve read several issues?”

Your gaze snapped to her, puzzled.

“I’ve read every issue since coming to Commonwealth.”

Piper’s heart twinged, touched.  She couldn’t remember someone who had supported her like that since…well, probably since her Father.  And that support had ended with his untimely demise, which is what thrust her into the realm of investigative journalism.  Even Nick had missed a couple of issues, and he lived only a couple of stalls down.

You had sipped your coffee and went back to the paper, normally, like you did every morning, and like you would do for every morning to come.

Piper at the time, had figured the warm fuzzy feeling was from your support of the paper she had spent her blood, sweat, and tears on. However, looking back, it was probably the normalcy of her morning with you in it.  The strangely familiar scene; you with the paper, her sitting across from you, not needing words, for you’d have a thousand more mornings to spend together.

That had been who knows how many mornings ago, and the streak hadn’t been broken since.

Occasionally she would wonder at your own recollection of the morning; did you realize how much it meant to her?  Did you revel in the beautiful simplicity of your mornings together?  One of these days, she’s sure she’d work up the nerve to ask; after all, in her line of work, she had to be able to ask the uncomfortable questions, even if they were uncomfortable to her.

**Gage:** _Oh great, another holier-than-thou Commonwealth hag._

Or at least that’s what he had thought upon first meeting you, the one he had designated as the new Overboss.  You had turned down the position, not fitting into the raider lifestyle yourself.  Gage couldn’t exactly force you to stay – still though, he was pissed.  After he had helped you, and you had the audacity to get right back on your high horse?

“You know, they’re not monsters.” He had grunted, “They’re people.  Uncivilized, violent, scummy people, but still people.”

“I know.” You had said quietly, as he escorted you down Fizz Mountain, ensuring no one from any of the three gangs would challenge your desire to just go home.

“And there are tons of scummy shitbags in the Commonwealth anyways – people who murder, and steal just like us, except they’re worse, because they pretend like they’re your friend.”  His voice got louder.

“I know.”

“And – you know, who says Diamond City is the only right way to live anyways?  Who died and made McDonough king?”

“You’re right,”

He balked.  You had kept walking, not looking back.

“While I can’t condone the stealing and pillaging raiders have done on Sanctuary, it’s not true to say that you guys are without your own merits, and own feelings.”

“Shit,” Gage said scathingly, “I dunno about that. I mean, we’re people who are just living free the only way we know, but I wouldn’t get all mushy and say feelings have anything to do with it.”

You had looked at him questioningly; it was the first time Gage had taken the time to stop and look you in the eyes.  They were pretty, and earnest, and to his surprise, void of judgement.

“And why on earth wouldn’t they?  All people have feelings.”

Gage snorted, but didn’t protest further.  In no time, you had reached the gate leading back out to the Commonwealth.

“Thanks for getting me out of that bind earlier, “ you gave him a small smile, “I really do appreciate it.”

He waved your gratitude off dismissively.  

“It was nothin’.”

You turned to leave.

“Wait, will I see you again?”

Gage had no idea what took over him, what had moved him to ask such a strange, misplaced question.  And yet, he knew exactly what – the way you had just dropped into his life, and against all odds, survived the Gauntlet.  That didn’t happen everyday.  Gage wasn’t a genius, but he knew a good opportunity when it was staring him in the face.

“I’m sure you will.”

And then you were gone.  For reasons he couldn’t articulate yet, he couldn’t wait.

 **Preston:** If truth be told, Preston believed he fell in love with you the moment he met you, and just hadn’t realized it yet, because in the first moment he met you, he knew you’d be the one to fix the Commonwealth. He had seen you clean up Concord, saw you take the time to get to know the small group of survivors he managed to salvage from Quincy, watched you rebuild Sanctuary, and with it, himself.

He watched you grow into the Commonwealth, through trial and error – this strange person from the vault.  A little muddled on the drastically different lives people could live out here, compared to the more linear assortment of the pre-war days, and yet, you never stopped trying to better wherever you went.  Not perfect, no, and it would’ve been unfair of him to expect such.  And yet, perfect for him, because of that.  Because, despite your own fallacies, you never stopped being better.

He had watched as you sided against your own son for the better of the Commonwealth, watched it damn near tear you in half, and yet you never wavered.  Watched as even after, you could set aside your own turmoil to lend a hand to those that needed it.  Selfish as it may be, Preston had come to terms with his feelings for you, his want for you to be his, despite the Commonwealth needing you to theirs.  For, although you took care of the Commonwealth, someone needed to be there to take care of you, no?

 **X6-88:** X6 was not indecisive as a general rule.  He was quite skilled in weighing outcomes, and unflinching when executing orders.  And yet, on you – he was unsure.  As unsure as he had accused you of being when he was worried that Shaun had entrusted the Institute in the wrong hands.  Mother or not, you lacked the direction to take the Institute anywhere other than down.

And yet, you did not deny this.

You had known how he resented your fallible human brain, constantly swayed by your fallible human heart.  At first, he had been quite resistant to your “that’s just one way of doing things”, mentality.

“No, there is a right way, and a wrong way, and you chose the latter.”

Add her to the list of things he didn’t understand, albeit it was a pretty short list, consisting only of you, and the inner workings of his own heart, which actually was related to you - but he hadn’t realized that yet.

It wasn’t until he had been traveling with you for a while that he started to notice it – this growing, spacious feeling in his chest; as if his heart muscle was bubbling out, stretching until it might pop. At the same time, it felt tight; as if your hand was curled around it, squeezing it, willing him to abide by your decisions.  Your silly, whims.

That’s what he had thought at first, because he had started doing things he’d never done before – comforting people, showing mercy, doing favors – and that terrified him.  Who was he?  What was he if not reasonable?

He asked you that one day, the uncertainty damn near killing him, or at least he thought it would if that wasn’t a physical impossibility.

“A person.” You had answered, so simply, it infuriated him.

“Negative, I’m not human, I’m a-“

“I didn’t say human, I said you are a  _person_.”

X6 didn’t know how to respond to that.

“And people have feelings, and occasionally, doubt is one of those feelings.”

“Doubt…” his eyebrows furrowed.  X6 did not make a habit of doubting himself.

“And that’s okay, it’s a part of being alive.”

Blood flowed through him, he had a heartbeat, he couldn’t deny being alive.  He didn’t like the subsequent admission of doubt though.

“Ma’am, how do you make it stop?”

“Oh X6,” you had murmured, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

His heart squeezed painfully, as your touch left him.

Was this a side effect of “doubt”?  Was this something else entirely?  X6 speculated another possibility…but he didn’t dare explore it further until he came to terms with his newly discovered “person-hood” status. It was all he could do not to cling to you, for answers he thought, and for something else, he would later come to realize.


	2. Companions Realize They're in Love with m!Sole Survivor

**Deacon** : 

It was overcast that day, and in retrospect, this was most fitting.  There wasn’t so much as a tinge of blue in the sky; rather it was a liberated gray, so bright, that it could sear the inside of Deacon’s eyelids despite the sun not being in sight.  Thankfully, sunglasses were a regular staple in his wardrobe.  

It was peaceful here, he thought decidedly, Sanctuary Hills really did live up to its name.  Sole had done well in establishing a new place for people in the Commonwealth to settle down, and raise their families, without the snake eyes of Diamond City, and the drug scene of Goodneighbor.  Hands on his hips as he surveyed the meandering street from beneath the overhang of Sole’s house, he could spot kids tossing a ball back and forth, and Minutemen pacing; security just in case, but seldom needed.  One of these days, Deacon would grow up enough to toss a kind word about this Garvey’s way, but that day was not today.  

Deacon scanned the quiet, Sanctuary scene once more, before deciding to poke around in the house to find who he was looking for. Today was their off day; technically he wouldn’t need to track Sole down until their scheduled dead drop tomorrow, but still, there was a whole lot of day left to kill, and Sanctuary, despite its peacefulness, had exactly zero bars.  The house was as quiet as the rooms were empty – Sole was seldom home, so it shouldn’t have surprised Deacon that he only had a bed, a table and some chairs.  He was much the same, back at Railroad headquarters; the world contained barely a hint of his existence, and in Deacon’s opinions, that was an edge. Still though, his aching neck cared little for vocational advantages.  At least in the Old North Church, he had a  _mattress_.

Through the window of Sole’s bedroom (literally, just a room with his bed) Deacon could spot the crown of Sole’s head, as if he were kneeling just below the sill.  Deacon retraced his steps back out to the overhang, before rounding the back corner of the house, and finding Sole in the backyard.

He was crouched in a shaded corner of the yard, where a modest collection of hubflowers grew, and baby shoots of ivy had started to ascend the crumbling concrete foundation.  

Sole knelt, his knees sinking ever so slightly into the soft dirt and he leaned inwards, as if conversing with someone, looking earnestly to the patch of flowers with a reverence that made Deacon feel like he was intruding; he wished he’d have waited until Sole had found him, instead. Deacon followed Sole’s gaze and it was then that he noticed the humble stone nestled amidst the flowers. Crudely engraved was a woman’s name, with a surname that matched Sole’s, and two years bookending a span of time that even Deacon himself had never touched.

“Hey mom,” Sole started, and Deacon further silenced his breathing, “happy birthday.  I hope you’re good, wherever you are.”

The implications of Sole’s greeting struck Deacon hard across the face; Wanderer seldom spoke of his family.  Not that Deacon was the type to break out the old family albums either, but still.  He’d told him a bit about Barbara.  

Despite the emotion that graveled his voice, Sole sounded significantly younger.  The raw plea in his sentiments perhaps, or the way he knelt before his mother, even though he had transcended her in the number of years that came and went.  

“I’ve been good too.  For the most part, anyways.”

Deacon found himself listening more intently.

“I’ve met someone, and I think you’d like him – I certainly do.  His name is Deacon,” Sole made a face, “or, uh, I’m pretty sure it is, and he’s someone I…work with.”

Deacon felt a tightness in his chest, and realized it was because he hadn’t breathed since he’d latched onto Sole’s voice. The corner of Sole’s mouth quirked into a smile, his eyes fixing on a point that Deacon couldn’t see himself.

“He’s real smart, and real funny – you’d get a kick out of him, mom,” Sole let out a breathy little half-laugh, as if Deacon had demonstrated his wit right then, “he’s always lookin’ out for me.  He helps a lot of people, sort of like you did.”

An invisible hand squeezed sharply in Deacon’s chest, and he had to stifle a croak of pain.

“He’s a good man; one of the best I’ve ever known.”

The words swathed the spy and it was then with the clarity a chilled spring rain seemed to bring about on the most thoughtful of overcast days, Deacon understood entirely what it was he felt.  Like he was the frog who had finally gotten around to looking about the pot of water he was situated in, and decided,  _well gee, it_ is _rather hot._   He could’ve been boiled alive in Sole’s words and been better for it.

He lingered a while longer by the side of the garage, watching Sole crouched in the modest garden.  He didn’t speak anymore, but Deacon had heard well enough. He watched him until the sky was a backdrop of muddled pinks and purples, and the air chilled with promises of night. When Sole began to rise to his feet, Deacon in his typical, stealthy style, ducked behind the corner of the house. By the time Sole rounded that same corner, Deacon was lounging at the meager dining room setup.

“Hey,” Sole smiled.

“Hey yourself.”

Nothing felt changed in light of these new revelations, and so Deacon figured that they probably weren’t revelations at all.   _I’ve met someone…he’s a good man_ , the words fit into him like a key in a lock. Something clicked inside of him, but no, nothing changed.

“Hungry?  I could whip us up something real quick,” Sole said, sounding light.

Deacon snorted, trying to find a grasp on his own levity.

“With what?  The house probably became emptier when you moved in.  Let’s head to Goodneighbor or something, where there’s at least some lukewarm beers waiting for us.”

Sole made a face, opening his mouth with what looked like retaliation for the minor slight to his home, but banished the trout-like gesture in the end.

“The Third Rail sounds great actually,” Sole said.

Deacon made a pleased noise.

“Stick with me kid,” he teased as they headed out the door.

They both hoped Sole would.


End file.
